


When Cat and Wolf Play

by Pernilla_Writes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, Betaed, Gore, M/M, Scenting, Witcher Instincts, Witcher!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pernilla_Writes/pseuds/Pernilla_Writes
Summary: At the corner of the inn, shrouded in darkness, was a cloaked man. His hair, peeking from his hood, was white but dirty, he was drinking from a mug and pointedly kept his eyes on it, refusing to raise his face.Jaskier gave a longing look to a free table right beside a window, where the light from the sun hit just right and promised a warm seat, and headed towards the dark cold spot where the other sat.“Love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”The other’s eyes shifted towards the side as he scowled.“I’m here to drink alone.”Oh, well, always lovely company, my kind.“Oh, come on, it’s rare to cross paths lately, with all of us dying out and whatnot.”------------------------------------------------------------------------Jaskier is a Witcher, from the school of the cat, things go differently.This Fic is now beta'd! All chapters have been updated!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 172
Kudos: 1243
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY, favorites





	1. I love the way... you just sit in the corner and brood.

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Игры кошек и волков](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482925) by [NoxMoonStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoxMoonStone/pseuds/NoxMoonStone)



> For those who have only watched the Netflix series:
> 
> There are multiple Witcher schools, Geralt is from the school of the wolf and in this fic Jaskier is a Witcher from the school of the cat.  
> There is bad blood between the two schools, without spoiling anything, the cat school did bad things to the wolf school, I will explore that in this fic.  
> Also, the formulas used to mutate Witchers were changed at some point in the cat school, leading to emotionally unstable Witchers with sub-standard mutations. (Hence Jaskier’s retaining his original eye color.)
> 
> This work now has a beta! She is absolutely invaluable! Thank you u/Ganelon8

The sun outside shone brightly, his horse was tired, his mane dulled by the dust gathered over the long journey to the small town. Jaskier saw the tall shape of the inn over the hill he sighed of relief. A town where there was an easy contract and good pay. _Finally_.

As he approached the stables, a smell other than manure hit his sensitive nose, a smell of death, of mutated flesh and blood. He cast a look to a brown mare drinking from a watering hole, and smiled.

The inn’s walls were showered in gold with light coming in from the windows, the old wood looked almost soft when saturated with the sun’s rich colours. The Witcher could smell it in the room, someone like him, and he was sure the other knew he was there, too.

He had hoped to meet Aiden, or maybe Shrodinger, his friends and training companions, but now knew that it couldn’t possibly be them. He knew their smell, and this was different.

At the corner of the inn, shrouded in darkness, was a cloaked man. His hair, peeking from his hood, was white but dirty, he was drinking from a mug and pointedly kept his eyes on it, refusing to raise his face.

Jaskier gave a longing look to a free table right beside a window, where the light from the sun hit _just right_ and promised a warm seat, and headed towards the dark cold spot where the other sat.

“Love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

The other’s eyes shifted towards the side as he scowled.

“I’m here to drink alone.”

_Oh, well, always lovely company, my kind._

“Oh, come on, it’s rare to cross paths lately, with all of us dying out and whatnot.”

The white-haired Witcher glared at him as he sat. Jaskier’s blue, slitted eyes found the other’s medallion on his chest.

“Wolf school, oh, fun! Haven’t seen much of your lot — well, you know.”

He laughed awkwardly as the white-hot smell of pain and anger came off the other. _Yeah, change of subject, now_.

“So, white hair, wolf school, you must be the famous Geralt of Rivia.”

The other growled at him and took his coin, sitting up.

“Oh, please, don’t leave, I’ll be silent if you want.”

The Witcher shot him a look of doubt, but spotting the maid coming towards them probably decided that lunch was more important than him, and sat down again.

“Greetings. Can… can I get any… anything for you?”

The girl positively stank of fear, but you didn’t need a Witcher’s nose to know she was afraid, looking at her was more than enough, her hands were shaking where they rested on her lap, clutching an old, chipped serving tray for dear life.

Jaskier smiled wide, keeping his sharp teeth concealed behind his lips. He felt her relax somewhat. _That was good enough_.

“A beer for me and my friend, and two plates of whatever speciality this inn serves, please.”

He said in his sweetest voice, the one he reserved for when he wanted things out of people, and it worked, as usual. The maid bowed curtly and went towards the bar, bringing back two mugs of beer almost immediately, taking the cup Geralt had already emptied with her.

Jaskier simply sat for a moment, trying his hardest to read the other’s body language before speaking. All he could get was scent, the other’s body was pure indifference, no doubt rehearsed over a lifetime, his eyes hidden under white strands of hair.

But scent doesn't lie.

“Someone is pissy, uh?”

The man sent a glare towards Jaskier, his lips twisted into a snarl.

“Be glad I’m not slitting your throat, cat.”

_Oh. He knows already?_

To be fair, it didn’t take much to figure out his school if you knew what to look for, Jaskier reasoned to himself.

Even without his medallion around his neck, a hazard in his profession really, his blue slitted eyes, his frame, his demeanour… he was quite sure even his scent smelled of botched mutations. All those things gave him away. _Too easily_.

“That’s not nice.”

He smiled warily, hoping for de-escalation, but Geralt’s only answer was a low growl.

Jaskier looked down, then moved onto a safe topic. _Better this way_.

“Listen, I got a contract, pretty sure there’s no monster, but there’s money. We take care of it together and split the reward.”

The other arched an eyebrow. _Probably asked himself if I’ve already gone mad_.

“And why would I do that?”

Jaskier shrugged, but his smile was reappearing fast on his face. In that moment the maid-girl got them their plates, filled with boar and potatoes. Not much seasoning, but the portions looked filling at the very least.

She set them down on the table and positively fled behind the counter. Well, he figured a small town like this didn’t get Witchers often, let alone two sitting together.

Geralt was no longer waiting for his response and had started eating; Jaskier decided to use this time to talk, the other may just very well leave after finishing his meal, and judging by how fast he was shovelling the meat in his maws, it wouldn’t take long.

“It’s the only contract in the area, next town with any prospect is a week’s ride at least. Furthermore, it’s almost winter, only two months left, and the wolf’s school fortress is at least a month’s travel from here, if not more. You need to buy provisions, and you need to get the coin fast. This is a low danger contract, possibly over within half a day, and if we work together there’s even less risk. 75 ducats each.”

The other had stopped eating at some point during his rambling and was looking over at him with a tired expression.

“Do all cats talk so much or is it your own brand of failed mutagens?”

Jaskier pressed his lips in a line, his sharp teeth — _fangs really_ — dug slightly into the taut flesh.

“And it wouldn’t be any safer,” Geralt added, as if in an afterthought.

“What do you mean, not any safer? We could watch each other’s backs!”

Geralt had finished his meal and was standing up. “I don’t trust your kin, cat, and I feel you would sooner stab me in the back thanwatch it.”

A wave of guilt washed over Jaskier, he haden’t even been there, during the massacre, he wasn’t even mutated yet. _Not my fault_.

“I’ll find another contract. Enjoy the town.”

And he left, without as much as a backward glance. His swords in his hand. Jaskier realised for the first time how tall the other was.

Looking down at his food he noticed a few coins, enough for both of their meals.

_Fuck me._

He shovelled the food down as quickly as he could, pretty damn quickly, and while still swallowing a mouthful ran after the other, following his scent.


	2. What happened with you? Your mother fucked a goat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long notes at the end, please read!

Jaskier managed to catch up to Geralt. His stallion was panting by the time he was riding beside the other; the white-haired Witcher was leading his horse. The arid air tasted of dust and heat, it left an unpleasant taste on Jaskier’s tongue and clung to the sweaty coat of his horse. _Gods did he hate the heat._

“So, are we doing the contract? I’d like a hand and you’ve got two.”

He didn’t particularly fancy sounding needy, but he really wanted some company. It had been some time since he had met a Witcher from a school other than his own, almost a year since he had met another Witcher at all, and he had ~~also~~ somehow managed to meet the one with some bloody infamy on top of that. _Lucky me._

“Go away.”

Jaskier huffed and dismounted, landing next to the other and using the side of his stallion’s bit as a lead. Geralt’s hair was unwashed and tangled, his chin full of short and coarse stubble. Jaskier imagined he wasn’t faring much better, except for the stubble; he liked shaving regularly, not that there was much to shave anyway.

“I won’t be but a silent companion! Just for this one contract! An adventure, if you will.”

Geralt stopped and gave him a look, Jaskier’s had always envied the yellow eye colour of other Witchers; his own blue made him different amongst the already different. _Afreak amongst freaks._

“How long have you been on the path?”

It was the first real question the other had asked him, his lips quirked, a nice feeling blooming in his chest. You could always count on a Witcher’s curiosity, they were literally made to get to the bottom of things. But then he had to answer the question. _Thank the gods for the mutagens fucking up my capillaries_. He really didn’t need to blush right now.

“About… five years now, I know, it’s not that long.”

Geralt grunted and turned back towards his mare, adjusting his saddlebags and resuming his walk at a slower pace than before. Jaskier followed suit.

“From the way you acted I figured you were new. I’m honestly impressed you didn’t die your first year. What surprises me more is that the cat school has been making new Witchers so recently.”

_Oh, fuck you._

The school of the cat produced very few Witchers because of how hard it’s trials were, but they were the ones with the lowest mortality rate of new Witchers on the path, and sure that might be because of the… nature of the contracts cat Witchers tended to gravitate towards, but what Geralt had just said was just plain insulting. He took a deep breath and focused, no use getting angry, the other was just speaking his mind, and Jaskier would take talking to silence any day.

“Why, how do I act? Any one particular thing that gives my… inexperience away? Asking for a friend.”

He saw the smallest change in the other’s expression, amusement, and took that as a personal victory. The other seemed determined to be grumpy all the time, and Jaskier wold have none of that in a traveling companion.

“You talk like you’ve only heard about hunts from older Witchers wintering, like you still believe that you can be different, make a change. You would think someone on their fifth year of living on the path, in the real world, would know better. There are no adventures in our life, only the next contract.” He stopped talking for a moment, biting his lip, then spoke again. “We fight until we die, then we rot.”

Jaskier thought about how to answer, the road they were travelling was getting steeper.

“I hear your note, and yes, maybe I am a bit… optimistic about a Wicher’s life, but I want adventures in mine! You smell chock-full of them, amongst other things. What is that? Onion? Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is you smell of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak.”

“It’s onion. You should be able to tell, not a subtle smell,” the other said, completely ignoring the, frankly, amazing speech Jaskier gave.

_Truly, no appreciation for poetics._

“Right, yes, yes… well, I’d still like to do this contract with you.”

The other groaned and turned around, his brows furrowed more than usual. Again, that pissed-off smell coming off of him, like bad milk. Jaskier would probably do well and get used to it.

“I want nothing to do with you, cat. Last warning.” Geralt growled a bit, his hand tightening around his horse’s leash.

Jaskier straightened up, his hand was itching to get to his sword at the threat, both verbal and physical, but he controlled himself, not wanting to be the one to escalate. Fights between Witchers usually got ugly.

“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but as of right now your reputation is way bloodier than mine, Butcher.”

Geralt’s sword arm twitched, and Jaskier’s reached behind his back and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

Geralt’s pupils slitted even more against the bright sun, shielding him from too much light, taking in details. Jaskier could tell that neither of them wanted a fight. He was on the low ground, trailing slightly behind the other, but he had already a hold of his sword, Geralt didn’t.

“… We’ll do this contract, take the coin, and then you’re going to leave me the fuck alone.”

Jaskier slowly lowered his hand from the hilt of his weapon to his side, a smile brightening his face.

“Seems like a good start.”

“Hmn.”

Jaskier had to change the topic of conversation, again, lift that heavy feeling of aggressiveness that permeated the air. Geralt started walking again, turning his back on him, but he could tell the other was still very aware of his position, of his movements. Jaskier gave him some space, remaining a few paces behind, enough that the other would feel safer. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, and so he spoke.

“You’re a real talker, aren’t you? I do love a good conversation, the thing you said?” He imitated Geralt’s deep rumbling voice. “We fight until we die, then we rot. Wasn’t it? Loved that, you should get a side job as a poet, or a bard. You would look great in silks with that white mane of yours. Tell me, does the carpet match the drapes?”

Geralt didn’t even turn.

“Is that a yes? You know the saying, qui tacet, consentire videtur.*”

“They teach you high languages at your school? Speak like a normal person, for fuck’s sake.”

Jaskier smiled and kept talking.

“So, do you recon there is a monster? The villagers called it a devil, but I think this might be a solitary thief at best, a werewolf at worse.”

“Let me see the notice.”

“No notice, a man came directly to me, I was a couple of towns over and he was there too, visiting family. He said there is a devil,” here, he quietly snickered, “Which has been stealing their food, mostly grains, the field is just on top of this hill. Said it had horns and hooves. I honestly don’t think anything like that is at work here. Probably some thief dressing up to scare the poor sods and steal unbothered.”

Geralt nodded, his lips pursing in thought.

“Sometimes there’s monsters, sometimes it’s coin, rarely both.”

Jaskier looked at him.

“You know, you really should start carrying a journal around, you talk little but you have some damn good one-liners.”

Geralt made a noise, a positive one probably, Jaskier couldn’t tell.

“That one’s not mine.”

Not his… One of the wolf school teachers maybe? Maybe a little inside-joke they have?

Before he could finish that thought they were at the top of the hill. The sun was still hitting hard, and the air was just as dry as before, there was a nice golden field of grain and hemp. The sweet smell of the latter made Jaskier’s nose tingle. _Ah, to think of Zarrakenian hemp. Good times. Ok focus._

  
He looked around, taking the environment in. The hemp plants were tall, way taller than the cat Witcher, and a bit taller than Geralt, the coast seemed clear enough, and that could only mean one thing.

“So, what are we looking for? Prints? Scent?”

“Blessed silence.”

Jaskier smiled despite the jab, he liked a witty answer.

“Yes, well, I don’t really go in for that.”

He smiled at his own joke, and then he heard it.

“SHIT!”

Along with Geralt’s cursing, a sharp noise, something shiny hit Geralt on the forehead and the injured witcher bolted down. He smelled iron, both blood and metal.

His silver sword was out in seconds, a quick sign covered him and Geralt with a thin layer of gold.

“You good?”

He said, looking around, smelling the air more closely. Geralt grunted, showing a small bloodied ball made out of metal in his hand. And he could smell something else now, goat, why let a goat roam the fields? His pupil dilated to take in as much light as possible.

And then he saw it.

A figure crouched behind the tall plants, hidden by the foliage. He heard the projectile before he saw it, he didn't need to see it.

His sword deflected the blow with a loud bang, his golden shield was still in place, if he couldn’t parry for any reason that would protect him, Geralt too, as long as they kept close. Unfortunately, their fighting style was not meant to work around allies.

The goat-man charged, screeching, “Leave me alone!”

Geralt was hit by the thing’s horns, but he was quick to recover, Jaskier was behind the monster, ready to attack, but a quick look from Geralt told him to stay back and be on the ready. _Unfair, let’s just cut its head off and be done with it._

“You talk.”

Geralt said as the thing charged again, this time the Witcher was ready, he took it by the horns and shoved it to the ground, trapping it with his body.

“Of course I talk!”

Jaskier got closer and pinned the tip of his sword on the thing’s neck, as soon as it let out a breath a few drops of blood came out. _Always keep your swords sharp._

“What happened with you? Your mother fucked a goat?”

Jaskier would have snorted if not for the adrenaline cursing trough his body, he was ready to strike at any moment, _he wanted that thing dead._

“I am Torque, the sylvan, a rare and intelligent creature!”

Geralt smiled feral, sharp teeth in full display.

“You’re a dick. With balls!”

Jaskier started looking around, it was too quiet, and the creature, a sylvan, too cocky. _He had backup._

“Balls I got from humans, who left our food filled with iron meant to poison me!”

The Sylvan reached up and tore off a lock of Geralt’s hair, a quick flash of pain crossed the other’s face and he grunted in pain and surprise, Jaskier’s attention was still focused behind them.

“Did your mother fuck a snowman?!”

Jaskier lost no time and trusted the blade into the thing’s neck.

At first there was no sound, no movement, death is less spectacular than one would think, it’s a quiet affair when done properly, and Jaskier was nothing if not a perfectionist.

He pulled out his blade, the blood came out easily, flowing freely to the ground, warm and inviting, as blood always is, it’s scent strong and never enough, sounds of chocking were coming from the thing’s throat.

And there was a scream.

Jaskier didn’t see her face, his body turned in mid-air, his sword sang, blade cutting through flash, and the elf’s head hit the dirt.

He was panting, excitement making him smile, a ferocious growl grew in his chest. Another elf was nearby, a male, aiming a bow at him.

Geralt acted faster than him, a dagger hit the elf, right in the eye, he fell lifeless to the ground.

_He took my prey._

He growled at Geralt who growled right back at him, shouting, “What the fuck did you do?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If you stay silent, you appear to consent.(A pretty shitty proverb)
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Hello!!! thank you all for the feedback and the response to this story, I feel truly blessed!
> 
> There are some nice Easter eggs in this chapter, one is for @kletochka_art on instagram, who came up with this beautiful concept of Witcher!Jaskier, you should check out her instagram for amazing Witcher art!
> 
> Also, this chapter was a bit of a struggle to write because of some family problems, I hope to make longer chapters in the future and to post more often.
> 
> Follow me on instagram @Pernilla_writes (personal)/@writing_with_myself (pure pieces of writing) or on twitter @PernillaWrites for random Witcher shit.
> 
> As always, kudos and reviews are what really keeps me going! I want to write the next chapter soon because a certain song will make an appearance.


	3. Toss a coin to your Witchers

“What have you done?”

Geralt was growling at him, his teeth bared and dangerous. Jaskier responded in kind, snarling and hissing viciously.

“They were going to kill us, they were planning to attack you from behind, if I hadn’t seen them it would have been our heads in the dirt!”

“Those were talking, intelligent creatures! We could have found some kind of compromise!”

Jaskier laughed, dropping his fighting stance.

“Are you being serious right now? What are you going to do? Kill me? For defending you and myself?” The venom in his voice almost dripped from his lips, he felt cheated, first the other stole his prey, now he was blaming him?

_No, I’m being irrational, the fight is over. I have to calm down._

Easier said than done. But he didn’t want the other to attack him or ride away. He didn’t want to be alone. With incredible effort, still somewhat snarling but calmer, Jaskier spoke again. “They are dead now, we might as well take our money. Winter isn’t long but our destinations are far, paying contracts scarce. I know what I need to do to survive.”

Geralt had dropped his fighting stance as well, but was still glaring at him. “Then what was that shit about adventures and heroics? You cat Witchers are all the same. I should have never agreed to this.”

_What a fucking ass._

He had heard that the wolf Witchers were more reluctant to kill, but he didn’t think they were suicidal. This had been clearly an “us or them” situation. He felt bitter resentment bubble up in him, but pushed it down, it was not the time to stop being friendly. He would ignore everything the other had said and just focus on the job.

The wind was starting to pick up, a soft sound around them, brushing along the faded green foliage and clouding up the air with sandy dirt.

Jaskier took in a deep breath. Geralt seemed to be doing the same, but his breaths were already slow and rhythmic, it gave him a collected and cool look, like nothing had just happened.

 _Fuck you and fuck your fucking superior mutations_.

“It’s too warm; the bodies will start rotting soon.”

He walked up to the sylvan’s corpse — _What was his name again? He had told us, right? —_ and took out his hunting knife. Geralt looked closely at him, but made no move to help.

_Fine._

He did like taking his trophies, it meant the fight was over and that payment would — _hopefully_ — come soon. The horns made it quite easy to keep everything still while he worked at slicking his neck, maybe he could cut them off and sell them separately? It sounded like a plan, even if only one of them was whole.

After finishing up without getting too much blood on his boots he cut off the horns, it was a bit harder but he had had practice.

The other witcher was still watching him, clearly in that fucking _pissy_ mood of his _again_. Jaskier would have liked for him to _get his head out of his ass,_ and help him by starting on the elves, but it was probably asking too much of the other. And besides, two out of three kills were his.

_And you are proud of that?_

Shut up. _I really don’t need this right now._

He took the intact horn and offered it to Geralt.

“To sell later.”

Geralt didn’t flinch, but stood still for a few seconds, enough to make Jaskier feel awkward; eventually, he took the horn without a word. Jaskier had a feeling he wasn’t going to sell it any time soon.

“Ok, I’ll get started on the elves. You want to check if they had some good gear before I get it bloodied?”

Geralt turned and gave him a look of disgust, his mouth slightly curved.

“Waste not, want not,” Jaskier said, shrugging. It turned out the two didn’t have much, a couple of arrows and a bow, some really shitty iron swords and Geralt’s dagger in one of their eyes… He took it out of the socket it was embedded in. The wolf had hit bone. Warning with a quick whistle, Jaskier threw the dagger to the other, who caught it easily and started cleaning it in silence, the blade glistening under the sun.

Once he was finished with the elves’ heads, he mounted all of the trophies to his stallion, getting up on the saddle. The leather was hot and felt too warm under him; he would need to give his stallion a bit of a break for the night, and a treat, he deserved it.

“Let’s get back to the town, we might be able to get some more coin out of them, the elves will make for a good incentive, humans hate them so much.”

The ride back was tense, Jaskier knew better than to try and lighten the mood, he had started to feel guilty about what had happened halfway down the hill.

The sylvan had stolen grain yes, but not much else, and thinking back to it those elves had looked- thin, and sick. Jaskier was not ignorant to what happened to the elves, his school had quite a few of them in their numbers, even mixed bloods, he knew they were chased out of their lands and vilified by humans.

_But they attacked first._

Still, maybe they could have talked their way out of it, deescalated the situation somehow. But Jaskier knew all too well how he got in battle, it was too hard to fight those urges, he was made to kill, to struggle to his last breath, no one could blame him.

_Well, he does,_ the voice in his head told him.

He decided to ignore it, no use giving it any attention. What would he give not to have _that_ problem anymore. It wasn’t as bad as some others from his school, but the battle and the stress and the urge to make Geralt understand and not dislike him was putting a lot of strain on his mind.

_Telling myself I’m not as crazy as my brothers, nice one Jaskier, truly._ He wasn’t sure if that was one of the voices or his own thoughts, so he was glad when they finally reached the village, he had something else to focus on, possibly some extra coin to make.

“This is the house.”

Geralt grunted and stepped off his horse, not bothering to tie the lead on the frail-looking fence around the wooden house. It was probably a Witcher trained horse, like his.

The house was somehow muddy looking even in the dry climate that surrounded it, a small patch of shrivelled-up vegetables sat lined in the garden with weeds growing all around, he saw some calendula flowers and made a note to pick them up before leaving, he was running low on those.

_Potion making is such a pain._

He unfastened the trophies from his mount and walked the few steps to the house to knock on the door, after a few moments the man who gave him the contract opened, his face more relieved than the Witcher ever dared to hope; a grateful client is a well-paying client.

But as soon the man saw Geralt behind him his face turned a sickly white colour, his hands shaking at the hinge of the door, he had probably recognised the white hair.

“Came here for the reward, but the contract was more complicated than you made it out to be,” Jaskier said, holding up the heads of the sylvan and the elves, hoping to distract the man from the other Witcher, but it was of no use.

“What is the butcher of Blaviken doing here?!”

Geralt didn’t seem to hear, opting to lean on a dead-looking tree in the small garden.

“He’s a friend of mine, helped me out with the contract that, as I was saying, was more dangerous than anticipated. The reward must be adjusted appropriately. Three heads instead of one. So I should say that 450 ducats instead of 150 would be a fair reward.” Jaskier now had the man’s full attention, and the human paled even more if possible, his already mousy voice turned even more squeaky as he replied.

“Sir Witcher, me family… We dun have those kinds of money. What I can do is 250 ducats, sir.” The man was shifting on his feet, his eyes darting from one Witcher to the other, to their swords.

“Well, that’s too little. Way too little. But it’s fine, I’m sure you will find a way to pay us; Witchers are always looking for young boys to train, and if I remember correctly you do have sons.” Jaskier knew he had used the right words when the man started to splutter and looked desperately inside the house, as if to check his children were in there.

“Please, master Witcher, we got two boys, two young ones. Me and me wife would be lost without them. I can give 300 ducats, but that’s all I have. I swear. Y-you can search the house, take anything you wants.”

Jaskier pretended to think about it for a bit. He had no intention of taking any boys back to the school if he could help it, but he also had to make a show for the man, keeping up the reputation of Witchers. That’s how they got paid. “I agree, we’ll take the coins and I’ll look into your home, see if anything catches my eye.”

The man scurried inside with a last look towards Geralt, who still had not moved from his tree; he was probably bored with the whole thing.

Jaskier threw him a cheeky wink and headed inside without waiting for a reaction, hoping to find some food for the road, but as he looked around he had to take in the state of the house.

The beds were made out of rotten straw and covered by mice-eaten blankets, the pantry was empty, an old pair of children shoes sat abandoned on a lonely table at the centre of the room, the woman that was repairing them was keeping her eyes on them, pointedly not looking at him. She was heavily pregnant.

“Your coin, sir,” the man said, offering him a pouch. Jaskier emptied the contents on the table, the woman startling at the noise. He started quickly counting the coins. It was a total of exactly 287 ducats. An odd number. It was probably every single coin the family had.

He looked around the house once again, his eyes settling on the woman first, her small, malnourished body barely keeping her baby alive, and then the man, looking at the coin nervously.

“I-I know I’m 13 coins short…”

But Jaskier wasn’t listening to him, his eyes captured by something behind the man.

A beautiful lute, of elven making, the wood was ebony and cherry, the rose at the centre, under the strings, intricately carved. Memories came back to him, unprompted and rude, of chubby fingers playing on a smaller instrument, a kind and patient teacher, years passed in gardens full of flowers and joyful tunes that he sang at the top of his lungs. Another life, a long time ago.

“Master Witcher?” the man called timidly to him, his face now sweaty. Soft sobs could be heard from the woman beside him.

“I’ll take that,” Jaskier said, with a note of finality pointing at the instrument and taking 200 coins from the table. The man didn’t seem to notice as he had immediately turned and looked at the lute, taking it from the wall where it was mounted.

The woman was looking at the coins left on the table, unmoving.

“Here the lute, sir, just- sell her to someone who will treat her right. She were my father’s.”

Jaskier nodded, taking the instrument from the other.

“What’s her name?”

The man raised his eyes, mouth agape and breath caught in his chest.

“She-her name is Nadia.”

The Witcher looked down at the instrument. “I’ll treat her right.”

He made to leave, he would give Geralt his part and just leave, go far away from that place and find another job. Then find a way to sell the damn lute, he knew he had no reason to keep her — _it_ — with him on the path. It would just be an unnecessary weight in his pack.

“Thank you, Witcher,” a raspy voice called out. The woman was sick, but her rough voice had a warmth to it that was hard to find from strangers, especially for a person like Jaskier.

Jaskier did not allow himself to linger.

As he walked towards Geralt he took the coin purse and tossed it to the other.

“Your part. I’m going to sell the lute I found in the house, so you get a bigger share of coin.”

The Witcher raised an eyebrow, weighted the purse in his hand and then put it in his saddlebags with a grunt. “You can haggle, I’ll give you that.”

Jaskier smiled bitterly, if only he was half as good as keeping his fucking feelings out of his job. “So, where are you going? Any idea?”

The other Witcher sighed, seeming to mull over the answer. “North. Far north. You?”

Jaskier finished securing his lute to his saddle and got on his horse. “North, but I wager not nearly as north as you.”He took a few moments to collect his words, trying to understand what he wanted to say. “I could have handled the fight better than I did. You’re probably right.”

Geralt was now on his horse too, looking intently at him, as if waiting for more, Jaskier didn’t know what to give, but he continued speaking anyway, he was good at that.

“I get aggressive, in fights, and before and after them, at times. I know it’s not the same for you, and I wanted to apologise. It probably wasn’t really fun, to deal with that, or my mood swings in general.”

Geralt took a few seconds to answer, but he did answer, and the tension Jaskier had felt in his shoulders since the start of the fight seemed to dissipate with every word.

“I won’t judge you,” Geralt said. “Sometimes ~~\- sometimes~~ heads just roll. Maybe today it wasn’t our heads because you reacted, or maybe we could have walked away without spilling blood. We’ll never know because in life there are no re-dos, no what ifs, especially in a life like ours. We must move forward.”

Jaskier found himself smiling by the end of the small speech. “As I said before, a poet; wasted talent, you witchering.”

And Geralt laughed.

It was a weird sound at first, something Jaskier couldn’t quite identify, a deep, rolling, heavy sound. But it was infectious, and soon, the laugh was shared.

.

That evening, after having made camp and eaten together, the two rested by the fire, and Jaskier’s eyes drifted to the lute next to his saddle bags.

He reached for it, before even realising what he was doing. Tuning the strings came second nature, muscle memory from years beyond his clearest recollections; soft sounds filled the night as the wood came back to life in his hands, notes and harmonies without a name came to him like no time had passed.

Geralt listened quietly, curious. His eyes heavy after a long day.

Jaskier felt no shame, no self-consciousness, as the words came out pouring from him.

When a reckless Cat

Graced a ride along

With Geralt of Rivia

Along came this song

From when the Witchers fought

A silver-tongued devil

His army of bandits

At his hooves did they revel

They came after us

With masterful deceit

Attacked from the shadows

By our eyes unseen

While the devil’s horns

Minced our tender meat

And so cried the Witchers

Our tales won’t end here

Toss a coin to your Witchers

O’ Valley of Plenty

O’ Valley of Plenty

O’

Toss a coin to Your Witchers

O’ Valley of Plenty

At the edge of the world

Fight the mighty horde

That bashes and breaks you

And brings you to mourn

We wiped out your pest

Got kicked in his chest

We’re friends of humanity

So give us the rest

That’s our epic tale

Your champions prevailed

Defeated the villains

Now pour us some ale

Toss a coin to your Witchers

O’ Valley of Plenty

O’ Valley of Plenty

O’

Toss a coin to your Witchers

Friends of humanity

Toss a coin to your Witchers

O’ Valley of Plenty

O’ Valley of Plenty

O’

Friends of humanity

Toss a coin to your Witchers

O’ Valley of Plenty

O’ Valley of Plenty

O’

Toss a coin to your Witchers

Friends of humanity

The song ended, it was barely whispered in the dark night, his fingers on the lute a soft caress.

“Nice tune. Never heard anything like it.”

Jaskier nodded and put the lute down, back next to his saddlebags. It was never meant to be, no matter how easy it all came back, how nice it was to feel the strings dig into his sword calluses, the next big city he would sell the lute, he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was slow to come, I'm sorry, I had some family drama, to make it up to you I made the chapter longer than usual, the next one could be even longer than this to be honest.
> 
> I was thinking of writing a few chapters from Geralt's point of view, would anyone like that? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> Also, you can find me on twitter @Pernillawrites and on instagram @pernilla_writes or @writing_with_myself where I post updates and answer questions on the story.
> 
> On instagram you can also find @kletochka_art who makes beautiful Witcher!Jaskier art!
> 
> And of course, tell me what to think of the chapter, as I always say reviews really keep me writing!


	4. Who’s wintering this year?

The ground was icy and hard under Geralt’s boots, the leather of his gambeson stiff from the cold under his fur cloak.

The trail was littered with skulls, half buried and crumbling with the passage of time. Kaer Morhen was close, so close he could almost feel the dilapidated walls around him, he could almost feel like a boy in training again.

He was leading Roach with slow and careful movements, eyes vigilant, when a voice called out to him.

“Wolf! It is good to see you!”

Eskel walked up to him, under his arm a freshly killed boar that had just started smelling of death.

Geralt had to stop as soon as he saw Eskel, his perceptive eyes taking in the other’s face.

The once handsome features of Eskel’s face were marred, an ugly pink mark ran down his cheek, reaching for his chin and splitting his lips, one corner of his mouth scarred down into an unnatural snarl that clashed with the rest of his kind face. The scar was deep, unbroken and messy. He felt his breath stop in his throat for a moment.

“That bad?” Eskel asked, a sigh of resignation escaping from his disfigured lips.

“I’m not gonna lie, yes, that bad,” Geralt said, after considering his words. Scars were a given in their line of work, some were bad, some worse. This one fell into a third, horrible category. “What got you? It looks like a blade cut.” Eskel was the closest thing to a brother he had, they went past the trials together, survived together. It had to be a cut made with a knife, or a dagger, so no monster. But what human could get close enough to a Witcher to leave a mark like that?

His mind went to an uncomfortable place, to eyes almost like his own and cat medallions.

“It was a blade; it’s a long story, wolf. But I have all winter to tell you. The road must have been rough, you came in late, plenty of snow has already fallen.”

Geralt nodded, thankful for the change of subject. He did want to hear the story but possibly not while sober.

“Who’s wintering this year?”

Eskel shrugged, both resuming their walk towards the keep. “The usual few: Vesimir, Coën and Lambert. Oh, talking of Lambert, steer clear of annoying him for a while, he’s bitchier than usual. Threw my boots out into the snow this morning, I have no idea why or what spurred it on. Coën is trying to find out, he’s been on it for a week, I think his underpants are next to get wet and cold first thing in the morning.”

Geralt smirked, all in order on that front, Lambert lashing out at nothing, Coën trying to be helpful, and Vesimir… “How’s the old man?”

Eskel made a face, they were almost at the gate. “Took my face in worse than you. Called me sloppy,” Eskel imitated Vesimir’s voice. “How did you let anyone get that close? It’s a disgrace! How slow did you get this past year?!”

Geralt scoffed, amused. “He worries a lot, you know him. Don’t be a child about it.”

Eskel pouted, or at least tried to, the left side of his lip did not move out of its permanent downturn. “I’m not sloppy,” Eskel said pointedly. Geralt knew how much pride Eskel took into his swordsmanship. He was always on top condition, always ready. If Geralt did not have his extra mutations he was sure he wouldn’t stand a chance against the other.

“You’re not sloppy. But you are now, officially, a pain to look at.” He laughed as Eskel’s free hand punched his arm.

“We’ll see how pretty you’ll look after tomorrow’s morning drills,” a new, familiar voice said. Vesimir stood just behind the gate, his sharp eyes on them, a grey beard covered his face, but Geralt could tell he was smiling. “Good to see you, wolf.”

.

.

.

The room was warm, a fully stocked fireplace lined the stone walls with red light, the long table at the centre of the room was filled with bread, cheese and wine, a fortunate acquisition on Coën’s part on one of his last contracts.

Vesimir was sitting close to the fireplace, carving a new mortar out of a block of wood. Eskel and Coën were drinking together, their conversation easy and cheerful, although you really couldn't have known by just looking at them. Both of their faces were partially turned to the fireplace, making Coën’s old pox-marks and Eskel’s new scar stand out, their eyes reflecting the firelight in an opaque sheen.

Geralt and Lambert sat opposite to one another, a game of Gwent always made the evening pass quicker, although being on the losing side was a new experience for Geralt.

“I’m telling you Geralt, you’ve just really gotten shitty at cards, it feels like I’m stealing candy from a toddler,” Lambert said and grinned, moving the coins from the middle of the table to his side. A yawn tore out of him as he stretched, covering his mouth with a hand.

“I haven’t gotten any worse, you’ve gotten better. Who taught you to use the monster deck?”

Lambert’s eyebrows furrowed. “No one.” His voice was curt, he stood up and collected his cards off the table, leaving the money he had won off of Geralt. He disappeared quickly into the dark corridors of the fortress, a low growl echoing into the now silent room.

“See Coën? Your underpants may yet live to see another day. Not sure about Geralt’s though.”

Coën shot him an apologetic expression at Eskel’s words and raised off his chair. “Sorry wolf, don’t know exactly what got his panties in a twist, he probably met some lass and it ended badly. He gets really hissy when talking about this past year.”

Geralt nodded, his mind going once again towards a blue-eyed Witcher. Why was he thinking of that now of all times?

“A Witcher’s path,” Vesimir said from his seat by the fire, his eyes sill following his own hand as he carefully worked the wood, “Is lonely, there is no respite, and companionship is short-lived. We can only count on our skills and our blades. If Lambert has to learn that the hard way, so be it.”

To Geralt it sounded rehearsed, like the old man had probably told himself just that a million times before.

The path was a silent place, and the weeks he had shared with Jaskier had been filled with words and jokes; the other Witcher had endless stories to tell, every single one of them embellished, they all sounded like fairy tales.

Sometimes, at night, if the air was calm enough, the breeze clean of the stench of monsters, Jaskier would play his lute.

Geralt could tell the other knew what he was doing, most likely he had learnt as a child and never forgot, the melodies were easy to follow, often full of rhythms that Geralt felt in his bones, other times full of sorrow and melancholy.

Jaskier sung those latter songs in a language Geralt did not speak, but recognised, elder speech; every second he spent with the other witcher left him with more questions, more uncertainties.

Geralt thought he would probably never know. He and Jaskier had split to winter in different places, and would most probably never meet again.

The path was, after all, a lonely place.

**-.-**

**-.-**

**-.-**

_Fucking hell._

Jaskier was out of breath, the steep climb down the rocky cliff got worse the further into the start of winter you were to return to the fortress, and he was _incredibly late,_ the seaweed was slippery and the tide high. The waves crashed under him in a thunderous boom, promising death to whoever wasn’t strong enough to hold on.

He did, however, have to count his blessings.

A pack filled with rations and furs was on his back, along with his lute and some good alcohol, and the entrance to the school was in sight. _Fucking finally_.

With a final jump, he landed on the thin strip of rock that served as the entrance, the water below him was black and cold, uninviting and other. Light footsteps walked up behind him, the sound almost completely drowned by the sea.

“You’re finally here! I almost thought you wouldn’t come this year.”

Jaskier turned and smiled at the familiar face. “And then who would beat you at Gwent?”

The other Witcher, Aiden, laughed, his red hair a mess of curls on his head, his pale and handsome face was full of freckles, yellow eyes smiling with mirth. “You might be a better Gwent player, but I can still kick your ass in training.”

Aiden had been in the same group of boys as Jaskier when he had faced the trials. Out of the twenty boys that had been trained only three had survived.

“Is Gaetan here? Haven’t seen him in a while,” Jaskier said.

Aiden nodded, taking Jaskier’s pack off of him. His eyes stopped at the lute and he frowned. “What’s that for?” Aiden was inspecting the instrument, Jaskier had taken to play it quite a bit more since he and Geralt had parted ways. He loved the sound it made, and even bought a few books on the subject in the hopes of getting better. _Somuch for selling it_.

“Got it during a contract. Long story.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow, but did not comment further. “Let’s get inside. Gaetan did mention you, something about owing you one?”

Jaskier’s mind went back to the last time he had met the other Witcher and the disastrous contract they had taken together. _Yeah, owing me one is about right._

The inside of the cliff was dry, but the stone floor was uneven, long bridges stretched between the alcoves that served as rooms in complete darkness, no torches lined the walls. A dangerous environment for the young trainees.

Jaskier can still remember his first time walking along those bridges, his human eyes unseeing, no railings for his hands to hold on to. The Witcher that had taken him walking a few paces before him, back turned. He was scared of falling back then, of meeting his end at the bottom of the abyss of rock below him.

He remembered longing for the comforts of his old home, his mother’s warm embrace, her ornate dresses and expensive perfumes stifling the world around him.

He remembered being the shortest out of his group, the slowest, the last one to learn to climb the walls properly.

And the grasses—

_No, I don't want to remember the grasses._

At last they arrived in the common room. A few Witchers were there, including Gaetan, but less than he hoped for. Since a good portion of the school had split off only a few of them returned to the fortress. The few instructors and trainees that spent the whole year there were always on edge, anticipating an attack from the ones that had left.

There was a fire going in a corner of the room, the familiar smell of cooked fish and mushrooms filled the air, the room was still dark, but it was easy to fall back into his place, like every winter.

He greeted some of his old instructors and went to sit with Gaetan and Aiden at the long table that sat in the middle of the room, plates full of fish and mugs of beer in front of them.

“Good to see you, shorty,” Gaetan said, his irritated expression present as always, but he had an air of someone who had something important to say.

Jaskier decided to play along. “Hello, baldie.”

Gaetan’s lack of hair wasn’t a stylistic choice, after the trials he had lost every single hair on his prepubescent body, never to regain any of it, but he took it in stride, Jaskier had been _veryhappy_ he hadn’t been the one receiving that particular variation of the mutagens. His off-coloured eyes weren’t exactly welcome, but way better than losing his _beautiful_ hair.

“So, had a chance to catch up with the dog lover over here?” Gaetan said, pointing to Aiden who, in turn, sent a glare towards Gaetan, clearly the epithet wasn't very welcome.

“Dog lover? Do I have to add zoophilia to the list of fucked up effects of our mutagens or is there a story behind that?”

Gaetan snickered. “It would seem that Aiden, here, fucked a wolf school Witcher. The absolute pervert.”

“Shut the fuck up, will you? I swear I will never get drunk with you again.” Aiden looked deeply embarrassed, but not ashamed. Jaskier smiled at him, hoping to bring his spirits back up, but decided not to share his own wolf-related adventures. He already had a pretty shit reputation after all.

_Aiden is a big boy; he can take the heat by himself._

“So, anyways, wanted to talk to you about something. Aiden might want to stay out of the loop for this one, least his newly found wolfish morals be offended,” Gaetan said in a guarded tone, low enough that only the people at the table with their enhanced senses could hear.

Aiden shrugged. “I want to hear what kind of shit you two get up to, so I can steer off clear of it. And, just saying, the wolf school might just have this one figured out: don’t stick your nose in shit if you don’t want to smell it,” Aiden said.

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully but otherwise ignored Aiden’s admonition, turning his eyes back to Gaetan, waiting for him to speak.

“Well then. There is this contract I got from an informant of mine in Cintra. Queen Calanthe herself commissioned it.”

Jaskier and Aiden listened intently, a secret contract from a regent could only mean dirty work.

“There is a knight that has been bothering her: her daughter, the princess, will have to marry soon and there will be a party to choose the husband, the future king. She wants the knight dead before the wedding is announced. The reward is set for 8000 gold coins.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but whistle.

That much gold was enough to get a new set of armour and swords, enough to sleep in inns for a year straight and buy a new horse, not that he wanted to replace Pegasus.

But that much money was enough to have a good few months free of contracts, rent a room in Oxenfurt. _Maybe even take a few classes in the academy…_

_As if they’d ever let anyone like you in._

He had to remember himself. He wasn’t _Julian_ anymore, no matter how much he wanted it.

“Why are you giving this to me? You owe me Gaetan. You don’t owe me this much.”

Gaetan bit his lip, the skin where his eyebrows would have been wrinkled in thought. “I can’t go to Cintra in time. I have other obligations. It’s risky, but one of the best damn rewards I came across in a long time.”

Aiden wasn’t of the same mind. “It sounds too simple. Why does she want that knight dead? It’s going to leave you in a pile of shit Jaskier. It’s a bad idea.”

Jaskier smiled sadly. _Do not forget yourself_. “I’m not known for my good ideas, am I?”

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud noise on the other side of the hall. Two young trainees were growling at each other, their sharp teeth bared and eyes wild. The older witchers and the rest of the apprentices watched in silence, not bothering to intervene.

“Are they—” Jaskier began.

“From the last batch, yes,” Aiden finished.

“Fucked up that one real good. They’re more monster than anything else. They used fucking vampire blood, the higher kind. Where did they even get it, I have no idea, but it made them too territorial. There were five of them just two weeks ago,” Gaetan said.

Jaskier decided that he had looked at the two fighting boys too long when the smell of mutated blood reached him. He turned his mind back to the discussion he and his brothers just had.

_Cintra._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was HELL to write, I'm still not happy with it.
> 
> This work now has a beta, thank you u/Ganelon8 for stepping up!
> 
> Find me on instagram @writing_with_myself or on twitter @PernillaWrites.
> 
> Also, I made some art on how I see Witcher!Jaskier in this story, here:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B8TfGG6K1ct/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet
> 
> Comments and reviews are my life blood, you guys are amazing and thank you to everyone that takes the time to write down their thoughts on the fic!
> 
> If you have any question about the story write them down below, I always do my best to answer them all!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this fic is inspired by the amazing fanart by @kletochka_art on Instagram, go follow her, NOW.
> 
> Also, you can follow me on Instagram @writing_with_myself for fic updates and writing stuff.
> 
> Please leave kudos and reviews if you liked the work, those help my motivation to write A LOT.


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